☠ anger song: four initials. @mockingbird
Still roiling over the latest events of Carnival Corpse, Senji could be found at his usual haunt, the weight room. Working himself into a state of exhaustion was the only way to calm down, otherwise he might go find that kid and cleave through his stupid little head. Though, the brat went MIA anyway; whoever moved him while he recovered was smart. Ganta was too oblivious to go into hiding by himself, and Senji suspected he wouldn't try.
No, despite the impending, murderous rage of several Deadmen, Ganta would want to apologize or somehow atone for the shit he pulled. Senji didn't think he could spare forgiveness this time around. He had been soft enough. A lot of Deadmen were calling the Woodpecker a traitor, he wasn't sure if the kid even had the heart to betray them like that. Anger fogged his reasoning right now.
Seeing that Ninben mask with the hateful little poem written just to provoke him into killing, coming so close to slicing up every last one of those bastards, and then seeing Ganta's spontaneous blast tear up the arena and nearly kill all of them, was a combination for distrust and grudges.
Crow, Crow and his Branch of Sin--
His fist punched the bag hard enough to make the chains squeak in protest as the powerful shock wave rippled through it. If the janitor hadn't reinforced the material, it would have burst like it did a couple times before, covering the tiles with sand. Then what? He would have dissolved into a fit of fury, slicing thick gashes up the walls and throwing weights around. It wouldn't have been the first time the weight room took damage from his frustration.
He kept himself in check for now. Until he found Ganta again.
"Kgh! ... hup!"
The person's head must have resembled a rotting, beaten fruit by now. He didn't know whose head he wanted it to be: Ganta or the Ninben. Then he decided it didn't matter, he just wanted to beat his anger away on this sandbag until he decided to lift weights with his good arm. After the blast, that fucking Ganbaru gun, his right arm had been crushed by chunks of concrete, broken in a couple places.
Nearly killed us! For what, that forgery?! What--What the hell?
What the hell?!
What the hell?!
Furious, he punched the bag until he was staring at a long tear and sand slowly leaking out onto his boots. Time to switch to the dumbbell.